handing us the same line again.

Fallen on hard times --- and there's nowhere to hide
Now they've re-possessed the Rolls Royce and the mink.

Turning on the peace sign --- and it's back to the wood.
Soon there will be raised a holy stink.

Somebody wake me. I've been sleeping too long.
Oh, I don't have to take this lying down.
You can keep your promises. Shove `em where they belong.
Don't ask me to the party --- won't be around.

"Flying Colours"

Shout if you will, but that just won't do.
I, for one, would rather follow softer options.
I'll take the easy line; another sip of wine,
and if I ignore the face you wore it's just a way of
mine to keep from flying colours.

Don't lay your bait while the whole world waits
around to see me shoot you down --- It's all so second-rate.
When we can last for days on a loving night;
or for hours at least on a warm whisper given.
You always pick the best time to rise to the fight.
To break the hard bargain that we've driven.

Once again we're flying colours.

I thought we had it out the night before,
and settled old scores, but not the hard way.
Was it a glass too much? Or a smile too few?
Did our friends all catch the needle match --- did we
want them to?
In a fancy restaurant we were all aglow
keeping cool by mutual permission.
How did the conversation get to where we came to blows?
We were set up in a red condition

and again we're flying colours.

Shout --- but you see it still won't do.
With my colours on I can be just as bad as you.
Have I had a glass too much? Did I give a smile too few?
Did our friends all catch the needle match --- did we
want them to?
We act our parts so well, like we wrote the play.
All so predictable and we know it.

We'll settle old scores now, and settle the hard way.
You may not even live to outgrow it!
Once again we're flying colours.

"Slow Marching Band"

Would you join a slow marching band?
And take pleasure in your leaving
as the ferry sails and tears are dried
and cows come home at evening.

Could you get behind a slow marching band?
And join together in the passing
of all we shared through yesterdays
in sorrows neverlasting.

Take a hand and take a bow.
You played for me; that's all for now, oh, and never
mind the words just hum along and keep on going.
Walk on slowly --- don't look behind you.

Don't say goodbye, love. I won't remind you.

Dream of me as the nights draw cold
still marking time through Winter.
You paid the piper and called the tune
and you marched the band away.

Take a hand and take a bow.
You played for me; that's all for now, oh, and never
mind the words just hum along and keep on going.
Walk on slowly --- don't look behind you.
Don't say goodbye, love. I won't remind you.

"Broadsword"

I see a dark sail on the horizon set under a black
cloud that hides the sun.

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing.
Take women and children and bed them down.

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Bless with a hard heart those who surround me.
Bless the women and children who firm our hands.
Put our backs to the north wind. Hold fast by the river.
Sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland.

"Pussy Willow"

In the half-tone light of a young morning
she sighs and shifts on the pillow.
And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly
to kiss the Pussy Willow.

In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing
in a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believing
for her white knight to appear.

Pusy Willow --- down fur-lined avenue
brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs for the train --- see, eight o'clock's coming

cutting dreams down to size again.

Pussy Willow --- down fur-lined avenue
brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming
cutting dreams down to size again.

She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing
an apartment in old Mayfair.
Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring
or to die for a cause somewhere.

Pussy Willow --- down fur-lined avenue
brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming
cutting dreams down to size again.

"Watching Me Watching You"

I sit by the cutting on the Beaconsfield line.
He's watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
He's still watching me watching you watching the
trains go by.

And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
and pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.

He's watching me watching you watching him
watching me
I'm watching you watching him watching me